The Last Winchester On Earth
by LisaJ
Summary: Crossover with The Last Man on Earth. What happens to the Winchesters & Company after the virus strikes?
1. Chapter 1

Havana, Cuba

A disgruntled Crowley sat at a café in downtown Havana, drinking rum from a box. This whole situation was outrageous. Once he'd ruled Hell, now he sat alone at an abandoned café, not a single minion left to perform the day to day menial tasks. He was even forced to roll his own cigars!

He'd nobly sacrificed his demons and tortured souls to fight the darkness. He'd even given that feathered ass Castiel all the souls under contract in order to help conquer the biggest threat the earth had ever faced. Naturally he assumed that once the crisis was over, he'd have plenty of time to replenish hell.

Crowley relished the challenge of making deals, luring innocent people to damnation, once again filling the bowels of hell with the sweet sound of screams from the damned. But then that blasted virus had struck, killing everyone on the planet.

How was he to tempt people with fame and fortune during a massive epidemic? Who can think of carnal pursuits when millions died every day? Even he, Master of The Crossroads, was unable to close a single deal. Even worse, the entire population prayed for forgiveness, repented their sins and cleansed their souls.

As a result, the reapers had whisked the newly deceased to heaven en masse leaving the erstwhile King of Hell to reign over an empty pit. His attempts at reviving the dead had failed miserably. Apparently, the winged bastards had somehow locked the souls away, far beyond Hell's reach. Even worse, he couldn't even blame the Winchesters for this calamity.

Crowley pictured the Winchesters frolicking together in whatever ghastly heaven they'd ended up in. Grimacing at the thought, he chugged down another box of rum. He looked down at his once impeccably tailored suit. Bad enough being the last demon on earth, there was no need to look shabby. Time to go to Savile Row and get another suit before he was wearing rags. Luckily he'd retained his tailoring skills.

Crowley tossed the box of rum to the ground and vanished.


	2. Chapter 2

Heaven:

Cas leaned back in his chair and sighed with relief. At last the processing was complete. Ever since the virus struck, he and the rest of heaven had been in 'all hands on deck' mode. Over seven billion souls to be sent to their afterlife sure took it out of a celestial being.

It didn't help that the newly dead were a grouchy bunch. You'd think that they'd have been relieved at getting into paradise. But no, the line at the sandbox turned into a stampede worse than Black Friday at Walmart. Aziraphale, the angel on gate duty, had been trampled. His wings hadn't healed yet, and he kept giving Cas dirty looks.

Even worse, this apocalypse hadn't just affected human souls. Every shifter, vampire, werewolf, wendigo, ghoul, skin walker and miscellaneous monster had been felled by the virus. The reapers on purgatory duty had left a post-it note on Cas's chair saying "We can't take it any more" and decamped to Pluto, leaving a motley crew of cherubim and cupids to handle the crowd.

As far as Cas could tell, the only being left on earth was Crowley. He took a moment to savor the thought of Crowley presiding over an empty hell before ordering Aziraphale to locate the Winchesters, then settled in for some serious drinking.

Several hours later Cas's boozing was interrupted by a knock on his office door. Quickly shoving the bottle of vodka into a drawer, he hiccupped and said, "Come in".

Aziraphale entered the office. Waving the alcohol fumes away, he said, "Uh, sir, there's a small problem with the Winchesters."

"Of course there is," Cas said. "What is it now? Dean won't leave his heaven? Tell him I want to see him now. He can get back to his pie and strippers later."

Aziraphale looked embarrassed. "It's not that. Winchester land is empty. They aren't here."

"What do you mean, they're not here?" Cas said. "They have to be here."

"They haven't shown up," Aziraphale said. "We've checked everywhere. Sam and Dean Winchester aren't in their heaven".

A thought struck Cas. Knowing the Winchester habit of breaking the rules, it was entirely possible that they'd ended up somewhere else. "All right, then," Cas said. "Check out the heavens of all of their known associates."

"Yes sir," Aziraphale said. He returned hours later looking freaked out.

"What did you find?" Cas said.

"Um, I did find a Sam Winchester in one of the heavens," he said. "But I don't think it's the one you want. "

Cas frowned at him. "What do you mean? he said.

Aziraphale blushed. "It's the private heaven of a Becky Rosen and it's pretty . . . graphic," he said.

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm an Angel of the Lord. I've seen everything in my time," Cas said. "I will visit this heaven immediately."

"Trust me, you really don't want to go in there," Aziraphale said.

Cas ignored him. Arriving at Becky's paradise, he opened the door, gasped in shock, and promptly slammed it shut.

"The horror, the horror," he moaned as he headed back to his office. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey, knocked back a slug, and said to Aziraphale, "I know he's not really Sam, but that poor, poor, bastard."

Many bottles of booze later, Cas sat in his office nursing the mother of all hangovers. Well isn't this just peachy? he thought. If Sam and Dean aren't here in heaven, Crowley must have gotten them. Great, another rescue mission. How many times do I have to pull those clowns out of hell?


	3. Chapter 3

Westbound I-10, somewhere in Arizona

A black Nissan Armada (ad slogan: An Apartment on Wheels) headed west towards California. The occupant, a grown, some would say overgrown man, stretched his limbs, luxuriating in the sensation of having enough leg room for a change.

It figured that of all the people on earth, he'd be immune to the virus. It was probably the demon blood. Well, he'd just have to make the best of it, alone in an empty world.

The one good thing about this apocalypse, Sam thought, was riding in a vehicle of his choice and listening to his own music, but I'd trade it in a heartbeat to be sitting next to Dean in the Impala. Sam took a moment to picture Dean in his private heaven surrounded by strippers in latex and endless amounts of pie. He smiled at the thought.

Sam wondered what Cas was doing these days. Probably too busy dealing with the tsunami of souls to respond to his prayers, Sam thought. As for Crowley, Sam sincerely hoped that he wouldn't show up.

Sam had decided to move to Palo Alto, California. He'd always liked the area, and the climate was nice all year round. Sure, he'd be alone for the rest of his life, but at least he'd have time to read and no one was trying to kill him. Let's face it, it's not as if he had had such a great track record with people, seeing that all his friends and lovers had either died or turned out to be demons. All in all, this was one of the better apocalypses he'd experienced.

Cruising along the highway, he passed a billboard on which someone had painted the words:

ALIVE IN TUCSON

It took a second for it to register in Sam's mind. He slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop. Shaking, he got out of the car and walked over to the sign. He touched the paint. It seemed fairly fresh. No, it can't be, Sam thought. I'm the only survivor. Could it be? Could someone else have survived?

Barely daring to hope, he got back into the car and gunned it towards Tucson.


	4. Chapter 4

Biggersons, Needles California

Dean sat on the floor behind the counter looking at the pile dirty dishes, beer cans, and porn mags. He had a vague thought that he should clean up the place if he was going to live there, but it quickly vanished. What was the point? It's not like anyone was ever going to see it. He opened another can of pie filling and proceeded to lick the sweet, cherry, goodness off his fingers. If Sammy were here he'd be making his best bitchface, Dean thought. He tossed the can down violently.

He wasn't sure why he hadn't gotten the virus like everyone else. Probably his supreme awesomeness had saved him. Or maybe it was the notorious Winchester luck. Being the last man on earth sucked, he thought bitterly. Sure, he had all the time in the world to watch the Casa Erotica series and hentai, he could eat whatever fatty/greasy/sugary food he wanted and he didn't have to worry about being killed, but it wasn't any fun without Sam by his side.

The virus hadn't just affected humans as far as Dean could tell. The last living being he'd met had been an emaciated vampire, and that was a year ago. Dean had even considered feeding the poor creature his own blood just to have some company, but it had been an ugly old dude instead of a hot young vampire chick, so Dean had quickly lopped off his head.

He'd tried prayer, but Cas had maintained radio silence. Dean wasn't sure if Cas was mad at him, too busy to return his calls or had been usurped by Metatron. Anyway, Dean Winchester was on his own.

Just as he was working his way through another can of pie filling with a beer chaser, he heard something he thought he'd never hear again – the sound of an engine. It got closer, and then stopped.

Ducking behind the counter, Dean pulled out his favorite Glock, and waited. Several minutes later two people, a man and a woman entered the restaurant. Carefully, Dean peeked around the counter. Dean naturally checked out the woman first. Not the prettiest face, but a nice rack and trim figure, he thought. The guy, on the other hand, looked like a douchebag.

"But Care Bear," the man whined, "Why can't I drive?"

"Because you don't obey the traffic laws, and you park in the handicapped spot" the woman said rather peevishly.

"Aw come on, it's not like I'm going to get a ticket," the man said.

"Phil, rules are rules," the woman replied.

What the hell? Dean thought. Traffic laws? Handicapped spots? Are these people for real? What the hell, she's the first woman I've seen in two years. I'll get her away from the douchebag. It'll be easy.

Putting on his most charming smile, Dean stood up and said, "Hi, I'm Dean."

The woman screamed.


	5. Chapter 5

The Last Temptation of Todd:

Tucson, Arizona

An Aston Martin drove smoothly through the Arizona night. Inside, Crowley's anticipation grew. It was lucky that he'd thought of tapping into the NSA spy satellites and discovered a group of people living in this godforsaken desert. For the first time since this infernal plague started, he had hope. Hope that in time, he'd be able to rebuild his demon army and take his rightful place as ruler of Hell and Earth. (Heaven could take care it itself).

The satellite photos showed that these survivors, a man and three women, liked to sit outside at nights around a fire, no doubt bonding over their misfortunes. He'd quickly teleported to Phoenix, procured a suitable automobile and headed towards Tucson.

As he neared his destination, he slowed down. How to play this? Crowley mused. Yes, I'll pretend to be a virus survivor, traumatized by the loss of my friends and family. I'll worm my way into their affections, discover their deepest, darkest secrets, their hidden desires and move in for the kill. Best to leave the younger women alive, I'll need them to breed more minions.

He sped up and pulled into the cul-de-sac where his prey lived. He got out of the car and said suavely, "Hello loves, I'm Crowley".

The reaction was most gratifying. The denizens of this putrid slice of suburbia squealed with joy, leapt to their feet, and ran up to him, arms outstretched.

Crowley choked back his natural urge to tear out their entrails and submitted to a series of hugs. Bloody Americans, the sacrifices he was forced to make. It was enough to make a demon weep.

Following the inevitable round of introductions, he learned that the man was called by the execrable name of Todd, the blonde was Melissa, the cougar was named Gayle, and the young Australian tart was called Erica. Apparently there were two other men alive, but they had gone on a combined survivor hunt and supply run. Never mind, by the time they returned he'd have ensconced himself as leader of this group and corrupted at least one of them.

The next day dawned bright and clear. A good omen, Crowley thought, perfect for a new start. He saw one of the survivors, Tad, Ted, no Todd, standing outside his house. He gave Crowley a cheerful smile and waived.

Crowley carefully scrutinized Todd. Pathetic, Crowley thought. A fat, bald loser hopelessly in love with a woman miles out of his league. What a perfect mark. That bald doughboy will be easy to tempt. Ten years from now, hell will have its first new demon. I'm back!

Conquering his nausea, Crowley went over to him. Time to get to work, he thought happily, anticipating the thrill of corrupting an innocent soul.

"Todd, old boy, why don't you show me around the town?" Crowley said, trying hard to conceal his exultation.

"Sure thing, Crowley," Todd said with a sickeningly sweet grin. "I'd love to." He proudly escorted Crowley to his house, opened the garage door, revealing a fire-engine red Lamborghini, and said, "Here's my baby." Crowley winced. The last thing he needed right now was to be reminded of Dean Winchester.

They drove around Tucson for a time. Todd kept up a steady flow of good-natured conversation while Crowley smiled, nodded, and planned the most sadistic tortures for this babbling fool. After a couple of hours Crowley thought it was high time he got down to business. He subtly steered the conversation to Todd's hopes for the future.

"So, Todd old man, what do you desire the most? Is there something completely unobtainable that you yearn for?" Crowley asked.

Todd took a moment to reply. "You know, I can't think of anything."

Crowley was taken aback. He'd expected the fat fool to name something banal such as wealth or fame.

"Are you sure?" he said, "Do you mean to say that can't think of a single thing?"

"Nope," Todd said with a contented smile. "There's nothing I want that I don't already have. I have good friends, a beautiful home, and the most wonderful girl in the world. I even have a Lamborghini. What else could I possibly want?"

Crowley's smile turned into a grimace.

'What's wrong, buddy?" Todd said. "You look like you just bit into a lemon."

"Nothing's wrong," the erstwhile King of The Crossroads said through clenched teeth. "Just a touch of the sun."

"Well, it's about time to get back, Melissa will be worried about me," Todd said. "It's funny, before the virus a girl like her would never have looked twice at a guy like me, but now we're living together."

"Yes, it's very amusing," Crowley said.

His luck with the others proved no better. It seemed that they were all glad to be alive, thankful to have found each other, and of course, every material item they could possible need was available for the taking. Disgusting.

Crowley was flummoxed. How the devil was he supposed to create new minions if there was nothing to tempt them with?

Fortunately, at that night's sing-along and marshmallow roast, (oh how he wished he were back in hell!), Melissa made a snide crack about someone named Tandy. This revelation was rapidly followed by the rest of them gleefully trading stories about what a douchebag Tandy was and how he had somehow convinced Carol, a real whackadoodle by the sound of it, to accompany him out of town. Now that was more like it! A douchebag and a lunatic – prime targets for corruption. Time to find their location.

Tossing off a "Ta loves," over his shoulder, Crowley jumped into the Aston Martin, wheeled out of the cul-de-sac, and teleported himself and the car to Fort Meade, Maryland.


	6. Chapter 6

Meanwhile, in heaven:

Aziraphale knocked on Cas's office door. He felt a little guilty for what he was about to do, but circumstances left him no choice. It was for the best, really it was.

After several minutes of knocking, he heard a slurred voice saying, "come in and make comfort yourselfable."

Aziraphale winced. Things had gotten worse than he'd thought. He entered the office, ignoring the alcohol fumes, empty bottles and the unpleasant sight of his boss slumped over his desk, a puddle of drool soaking the blotter.

"Hey, it's Azerrable," Cas said. "Have a little drinkie-poo."

Might as well get it over with, Aziraphale thought. "Sir, a Charlie Bradbury wishes to see you."

"Huh," Cas said, rousing slightly from his drunken stupor. "She wants to see me?"

"Yes," Aziraphale said. "Apparently she misses her 'feathered friend'". He hauled Cas to his feet, and propelled him down the corridors to Charlie's heaven, opened the door and heaved Cas through. Cas landed face down on the carpet.

Aziraphale picked grabbed the collar of the dirty trench coat, yanked Cas up again and dumped him unceremoniously in a chair.

"What's the meaning of this?" Cas said, his brain finally clearing slightly.

"You're an idjit", a gruff voice said. "That's the meaning."

Cas looked around, taking in his surroundings. This wasn't a heaven, it was an interrogation room. Standing in a circle around him were Bobby Singer, Hannah, Ellen and Jo Harvelle, and Charlie Bradbury as well as a few minor angels.

A vague memory of a reality TV show surfaced in his booze-addled brain. "Hey, this is an intervention," he yelled.

It was an intervention. The next few hours were excruciating for Cas. Everyone took turns telling him how his drinking had negatively affected them. By the time they were finished, Cas was completely sober.

However, he wasn't contrite. They had no idea how burdened he had been, what with the virus and all. He stood up, and said with what he thought was dignity that if they had a problem with his drinking they were welcome to jam a keg up their keisters.

Aziraphale snapped. If that was how Cas was going to be, so be it. Time for drastic measures. Nodding at Bobby, they tag-teamed Cas, dragged out of the room to the edge of heaven, and gave him a shove.

"He'll be all right," Aziraphale reassured Bobby, who was looking concerned. "I'll let him back in heaven after he sobers up. It probably won't take more than a few decades. While he's there, he can look for the Winchesters."


	7. Chapter 7

Biggersons, Needles California

The woman screamed, the man screamed, and Dean screamed. Not a scream, he told himself, it was a manly expression of surprise.

After the screaming subsided Dean had hoped for a hug, but the woman backed away from his outstretched arms with a look of horror on her face. The man just stood there like a douchebag-shaped rock.

Several awkward moments ticked by before Dean broke the ice. "You guys survived the virus too."

"Yup," Mr. Douchebag said. Another awkward pause ensued.

The woman, remembering her manners, introduced herself as Carol Pilbasian-Miller. The douchebag turned out to be called Phil Miller, not that Dean cared.

Carol looked around at the derelict restaurant, taking in the piles of empty cans, whiskey bottles, and dirty underwear, and wrinkled her nose in distaste.

Dean could have sworn she muttered, "This is even worse than the poo pool." No matter, time to turn on the charm.

"So, tell me about yourselves," Dean said to Carol. After an hour of hearing about Carol's career as a notary, love of cats, and an excruciatingly detailed description of her favorite crafts, complete with examples of beaddazzling, Dean was regretting ever coming out from behind the counter.

Interrupting Carol's flow of beading trivia, he turned to Phil and asked, "Have you seen anyone else?"

Phil froze. He gave Dean another Sam-worthy bitchface, and said, "Yeah, there's some jerks in Tucson. But you don't want to meet them."

"Oh Phil, they aren't that bad," Carol interjected.

"Yes they are! They kicked me out of my own hometown for no reason!" Phil yelled.

No reason? Yeah sure, buddy, Dean thought. They probably got tired of your epic douche bagginess. "Tell me more about them," he said, "so I'll know how to avoid them. Any chicks?"

Phil looked sourly at Dean and said "there's a psycho named Phil, and a big fat guy named Todd".

Carol jabbed him in the arm. "Todd's the nicest guy in the world. Melissa's lucky to have him," she said. Hearing that, Phil made a bitchface worthy of Sam.

A hot chick who was already taken, and two men. Dean felt a stab of disappointment. "So, is anyone else in Tucson? Any women?" he asked hopefully.

"Just those two hussies, Erica and Gayle," Carol snapped.

Hussies? That was more like it, Dean thought. "Nice meeting you. It's been real," Dean said as he fished the keys to the Impala out of his pocket. "Time for me to get on the road."

He ran out of the Biggersons, started Baby for the first time in weeks, revved the engine and fishtailed out of the parking lot in a shower of gravel.

"What a douchebag," Phil said.


	8. Chapter 8

Sam relaxed into the passenger seat of Phil's truck. It was nice to ride shotgun again after all that time alone. They were on a combined supply run/survivor hunt and frankly, Sam was glad to get away from Tucson – he could use the rest.

Sam remembered the night he arrived in Tucson. He had driven to the highest point he could find, checked out the terrain with his night vision goggles, and had seen what looked like a campfire. Noting the location, Sam had driven his Armada toward the light. He hadn't wanted to get his hopes up, but he couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation at meeting someone, anyone.

To his surprise and happiness, not only were there people, they'd welcomed him warmly, especially Erica and Gayle.

After the obligatory round of introductions, hugs and brief personal histories, (highly edited in Sam's case), Sam, Gayle, a lovely 50ish brunette, Erica, a gorgeous young woman with an Australian accent, Phil, a tall handsome African-American man, Melissa, a beautiful blonde, and Todd, a fat bald guy, spent the rest of the evening sitting by the fire, singing songs and drinking a very expensive champagne.

After several hours, Melissa and Todd announced they were going to turn in for the night. A few minutes later the song "She Drives Me Crazy" emanated from their house. Sam had been a little surprised to learn that beautiful Melissa and overweight, hair-challenged Todd were a couple, but after learning what a great guy Todd was it made sense.

Phil was a different story. Sam couldn't quite figure him out. He was friendly enough, but seemed a little reserved and almost suspicious. At first he thought that Phil was jealous of the attention Erica and Gayle were paying him, but it seemed that Phil wasn't involved with either one of them.

Phil also went to his house leaving Sam alone with Gayle and Erica. From that moment on things got a little interesting Sam remembered, glad that Phil couldn't read his mind.

Gayle had eyed him in a way that reminded him of Becky, while Erica tossed her hair and smiled seductively. Sam gulped.

"It's late, you must be exhausted," Gayle purred as she ran her hand through Sam's hair.

Erica put a hand on his knee. "More wine, Sam?"

Gayle began massaging the back of Sam's neck.

"Come up to our place, we have plenty of room," Erica said as she ran her hand up his thigh.

Sam tried to remain calm. This was not a Sam Winchester situation, he thought desperately. Think man, think. What would Dean do? Sam knew the answer to that. Why not? he thought. It's a new world, time for a new Sam Winchester.

Smiling at the ladies, he said, "Sounds good to me."

Sam's reverie was rudely interrupted by Phil slamming the brakes.

"What the hell, Dude!" Sam yelled.

"Look!" Phil said, pointing towards a cloud of dust heading towards them. "I see another car."

Sam peered at the dust. He could make out what looked like, no, it couldn't be, yes it was. It was a 1967 black Chevy Impala.


	9. Chapter 9

Biggersons, Needles California

Crowley was in a good mood. The NSA spy satellites had revealed the location of two more survivors in California. Gleefully anticipating making a deal or two, he promptly teleported to their location. Once he got there he surveyed his surroundings with disgust. Another loathsome American chain restaurant.

He watched the pair for a while, eavesdropping on their inane conversation, scrutinizing them carefully, assessing their flaws. After a several hours he felt that he had a good read on both of them. The man appeared to be a bitter self-pitying douchebag, or in other words, the perfect mark. The woman, on the other hand, seemed a bit of a whackadoodle. Crowley decided to hold off on tempting her. He was in no hurry. There was all the time in the world to rebuild hell.

Now for the big reveal. He strolled into the restaurant, noting with distaste the piles of empty cans of pie filling, beer bottles and soiled underwear.

"Hello, boy and girl. I'm Crowley," he said, bracing himself for the inevitable round of hugs. Ye gods, what was it with these bloody yanks and hugging? What ever happened to a firm handshake? he thought, nostalgic for the chilly manners of the British Iles.

Finally the excruciating formalities were concluded. He tuned out their life stories, and turned the conversation to a far more interesting topic: himself. It was a tragic tale of sorrow and loss, culminating in his cruel treatment and exile at the hands of the Tucsonites. As expected, Phil or Tandy or whatever he called himself, responded with a few bitter tales of his own whilst Carol muttered darkly about hussies trying to steal her man. Crowley wasn't quite sure to whom she was referring, but let it pass.

Carol then launched into a tedious spiel about something or other. An excruciatingly boring hour later Crowley had had enough. Giving her an insincere smile, he said, "Carol my darling, why don't you run along and let Phil and myself have a good talk."

Carol's response to that was an outraged squeal. Crowley ignored her outburst, while Phil looked oddly pleased.

"Are you going to let him talk to me like that, Phil?" the harpy squawked.

"Now Care Bear, I think Crowley just wants some 'guy time' with me," the moron replied.

"Fine," she said, stomping off in a huff. Crowley allowed himself a tiny smirk. Time to get to work, he thought.

He first turned the conversation to Phil's long list of grievances. The idiot was even pettier than Zachariah, Crowley thought. Cutting Phil's rant about being forced to clean his feces out of the swimming pool short, Crowley then turned to the subject of revenge.

Phil responded as Crowley had hoped. He was eager to avenge his banishment from Tucson, although after spending time with this cretin, Crowley's sympathies were with the Tucsonites. It also seemed that Phil thought that he'd had a real chance with the lovely Melissa until "Friggin Todd" showed up. Again, Crowley thought the others had had a point. However, it was time to get down to business.

"Are you interested in a deal, pet," Crowley said smoothly. "I can help you get your heart's desire, and all it will cost you is your soul."

Phil stared at Crowley in amazement. "Are you Lucifer?" Phil said, trembling slightly.

Lucifer! This fool thinks I'm Lucifer! "No, I'm not bloody Lucifer, I'm Crowley, King of Hell," he said proudly, adding a little red eye flash for effect.

Phil was suitably cowed. Crowley, not wishing to scare him off, turned on the charm. It didn't take long before Phil agreed to trade his immortal soul in exchange for revenge against that fat fool Todd and the promise of Melissa's love. Crowley quickly produced the contract and a pen. Phil signed on the dotted line. Crowley barely had time to gloat before Carol returned.

"Wait a minute, Mister, just what the heckinski do you think you're doing?" the harridan screeched.

Crowley winced. Really, he was doing the man a favor by separating him from this obnoxious scold. The tortures of hell would probably come as a relief.

"Sorry love, you're too late. Your inamorata bartered his soul to me. He said something about Melissa," Crowley said, a malicious glint in his eye.

"Phil, is this true? Did you sell your soul to get Melissa?" Carol said.

"Uh honey buns; it's not what it looks like. I did it for us. Honestly I did, Snookums" Phil said.

Carol folded her arms, and glared at him. Phil seemed to shrink in on himself.

Crowley shook his head. He'd really hoped for a better class of victim, someone he could mold into a fine demon, not this loser. Ah well, needs must and all that.

Carol turned to Crowley and said, "You better cancel that deal, Mister, or you'll be sorry."

Crowley indulged in a sardonic laugh. "Too late darling, he signed a contract," he said, waiving it at her.

Carol grabbed the paper out of his hand and carefully scrutinized it. She handed it back to Crowley, gave him a smug smile and said, "It's not a legal contract."

"What do you mean it's not a legal contract?" Crowley said.

"It isn't notarized," Carol said.

"I don't care," Crowley said. "In all the years I've been in hell, I've never had a notarized contract, and they've all been valid. Your boyfriend is going to hell."

"Okay then, if you won't release Phil from his contract, then I'll just have to join him in hell. I'll commit every sin I can think of to get there. It'll be just me and Phil and you together, forever," Carol said in her 'nails on chalkboard' voice.

Crowley winced again. This wouldn't do. The very idea of sharing hell for eternity with this dimwitted choad and this irritating nag was unbearable. Even the prospect of torturing them didn't appeal.

"Bloody hell. You can have your soul back, you putrescent meat sack. I hope you and your harpy live a long, miserable life together," Crowley snapped as he ripped up Phil's (nonnotarized) contract.

He stormed out of the restaurant more disgruntled than ever. Bloody hell, could nothing go right for him? he thought. Whatever happened to finding a suitable mark, exploiting his or her weaknesses, and sealing the deal with a kiss? Nothing in this new world made sense. He decided to return to Tucson. Perhaps Bill and Stan, or whatever their names were, had returned and were ripe for the plucking.


	10. Chapter 10

Tucson:

Dean grabbed another beer from the cooler. It was weird to be sitting outside with a bunch of people around a fire pit after being alone for so long. Only this morning he had thought that he was the last man on earth.

He couldn't believe it when he saw that truck screech to a halt and his little brother get out of the passenger side. It was a typical Winchester reunion, followed by Sam introducing him to the second Phil Miller of the day. Strangely, the sight of the two men splashing each other with water, tossing salt at each other's faces, and cutting themselves with silver knives before hugging hadn't seemed to surprise Phil at all.

Now he was in Tucson with five strangers and Sam. Quite an improvement, he thought as he eyed the ladies appreciatively. His confidence had taken a momentary hit after striking out with Carol this morning, but she was clearly insane. He gave all three women his best smile.

Melissa viewed Dean's filthy flannel shirt, ragged beard coated with pie filling and general slobbish appearance and sniffed. Gayle and Erica moved closer to Sam.

Dean couldn't figure out why all the women kept giving him dirty looks. Wasn't he Dean Winchester, handsome, charming rogue? Something wasn't right here.

Dean mentioned his meeting with Phil #1 and Carol that morning. The reaction wasn't what he expected. Todd looked embarrassed; Melissa smirked when Dean described Phil as a douchebag, and Phil #2 looked stricken at the sound of Carol's name, and stalked off to his house. Apparently they'd had a thing, and Phil #2 was still carrying a torch for her.

Gayle and Erica also decided it was time to call it a night. Dean looked hopefully at them, only to receive a couple of ice-cold stares. Oh well, there was always Melissa.

Melissa rose, turned to Sam and Dean and said, "Goodnight guys, see you tomorrow. Come on Todd, it's time to go to bed," before heading to her house. Todd followed. Several minutes later, the song 'She Drives Me Crazy' reverberated throughout the neighborhood.

Dean was speechless. What was a hottie like Melissa was doing with a bald chunker like Todd?

Sam must have read his expression because he asked, "Have you looked at yourself lately, dude?"

Dean snorted. Of course he'd looked at himself lately, well maybe not lately. The bathroom mirror at the Biggersons had gotten awfully dirty, and Dean wasn't a cleaning lady. Still, there was no way his uncommonly good looks had changed much in only two years.

Sam was more than glad to tick off the reasons Dean was striking out, "You smell like a goat, you're covered in pie filling, you haven't shaven in who knows when, and you're fatter than Todd. Just what did you do for the last two years, anyway, eat pie?"

Dean was stung. It's not as if he'd spent all his time holed up at Biggerson's stuffing his cakehole with the contents of the pastry shelf, just the last . . . 22 months.

"What did you live on for two years, canned salads?" Dean counterattacked.

"I found an organic farm outside of Tupelo and lived there until I decided to move back to Palo Alto," Sam said.

Look at Mr. Goody Two Shoes, he probably remembered to floss his teeth every night too, Dean thought.

"Which house is yours?" Dean asked.

Sam turned slightly red and said, "Uh dude, I'm staying with Gayle and Erica right now."

Once again, Dean was speechless. First the blonde hottie was shacked up with Mr. Potato Head, then his baby brother had ended up with not one, but two hot women. It was unnatural.

While he was thinking this, Sam had apparently been babbling on about some guy named Tandy's house being empty. "You can stay there. Phil rigged up a shower," he was saying.

Dean conceded defeat. He'd stay at Tandy's house; he'd even take a shower. Tomorrow he'd make plans to get at least one of the women away from Sam. After all, he was Dean Winchester.


	11. Chapter 11

6:00 a.m. Tucson, Arizona

The morning sun was strong despite the early hour. Dean had woken early and was standing outside of his temporary home, taking in his surroundings. He still couldn't believe that after two years alone he'd run into his brother. Sam hadn't been kidding about the shower. It had felt good to be completely clean for the first time in two years. He'd used a shaving kit he'd found under the sink, and was looking far more human than he had last night. Clothes were another story. Dean tugged at the too-small shirt. In retrospect, he really should have mixed in a few salads.

He looked up at the house across the street. No sign of activity on the Sammy front. Dean shook his head in puzzlement. How on earth did his geeky little brother manage to hook up with two women? How did they get his innocent baby brother to move in with them?

Of course, Dean thought, it must be magic. Those two were obviously witches holding Sammy in their evil, yet sexy thrall. He'd have to get his baby brother out of their clutches ASAP, even if it meant taking Sam's place. Really, he'd be doing Sam a favor.

His thoughts were interrupted by a cheery greeting from Todd. That was another mystery. Obviously he was some kind of warlock who had zapped poor hot Melissa with some kind of love spell. He'd have to break that enchantment too. For Melissa's good, of course.

Todd noticed Dean's shirt was bulging at the seams. He gave Dean the nicest, kindest smile Dean had ever seen and said, "You can borrow one of mine, buddy. Hey, there's a Big n' Tall shop at the mall. We could go shopping, just you and me, have a guy's day out and really get to know each other."

Yes, Todd was obviously evil. Dean sucked in his gut and said, "Sounds great, but I'll have to take a raincheck. I promised Sammy I'd do a . . . thing today."

Todd looked a little disappointed, but brightened when Melissa came out to join them. She put her arm around Todd and gave him a kiss. All Dean got from her was a frosty nod. Dean reconsidered his early conclusion. Perhaps she was the one who had used a love spell on poor decent Todd. Dean decided to leave those two alone. If it was a love spell, Todd would have to deal with it himself.

Within a few minutes they were joined by Phil #2, Gayle, Erica, and a disheveled looking Sam. Yep, he'd have to get cracking on rescuing his brother from their evil clutches. Poor Sam would be worn to nothing if he didn't intervene soon.

The day didn't go as Dean had thought. Instead of relaxing around the pool with a beer or ten, he'd been drafted into a work detail. He'd gone to a Home Depot with Phil and Sam, loaded and unloaded lumber for a new pen for the cow, shoveled its dung, and generally done more work in the last twelve hours than he'd done in years. He'd barely had time for a quick lunch of beer, canned anchovies and a helping of pie filling. To make it worse, Melissa had made a crack about "working off some of the weight". Sam, the bastard, had snickered at that remark.

The evening hadn't been an improvement. After dinner (no dessert!), the inhabitants gathered around the fire pit. Todd and Melissa were on one sofa, Sam was wedged between Gayle and Erica on the other, and Phil was occupying a Barcalounger. Dean had to make do with a lawn chair. For some reason there was a large easel next to the fire pit.

After some conversation, Melissa stood up and announced, "It's time to get this meeting started." She gave Dean an insincere smile and said, "I've taken the liberty of adding you to the chore roster, Dean". She flipped a page on the easel and pointed to a list of tasks including cleaning up after the cow, emptying the outhouses, taking the trash to the dump, and shopping runs. Dean felt his enthusiasm for life in Tucson rapidly dwindling.

Then Phil #2 took over. He described his plans for building a solar grid and tilling more acres of farmland in excruciating detail. Dean wasn't surprised to see Sam taking notes, his brother always was a geek. When Todd suggested going on a hunt for more livestock, Dean lost it. He hadn't survived the apocalypse to become an Amish farmer.

He was too tired tonight to do anything, but come tomorrow, he'd grab Sam and nope right out of town.


	12. Chapter 12

One week later:

Dean's plan to grab Sam and leave Tucson had hit a roadblock. It turned out that Sam was actually happy living in Tucson and was enjoying building solar girds and planning to farm. He also refused to believe that Erica and Gayle were witches who were holding him in an evil, yet sexy, thrall. Sam had even had the gall to claim that he, Dean Winchester, Sex Machine, was "just jealous the girls like me for a change, Dean". Umpossible!

To make matters worse, Melissa hadn't been kidding about the chore roster. They genuinely expected him to clean up after the cow and maintain the privies. Dean had taken various forms of petty revenge, but that had backfired. Last night's meeting had featured one Dean Winchester getting raked over the coals. They'd even had a list. Geez, you leave one bag of flaming cow pies on Todd's porch and they treat you like an axe murderer.

Sam, that traitor, hadn't had his back. He'd even said, "Well if it wasn't you who peed in the pool, who was it?"

Dean decided to lay off the pie filling and resume the search for survivors. If Sam could find two hot women without even trying, there must be more out there. Hot women, lonely women, women waiting for a handsome devil like himself to come along.

As he packed some supplies into the Impala, he heard a familiar voice growl, "You! I should have known it. You Winchesters are like cockroaches. Nothing can kill you."

Dean turned around. Somehow he wasn't surprised to see the King of Hell standing behind him. Of course Crowley was still was alive. It was bad enough that he was striking out with all the chicks while Sam was getting lucky. Fate just had to add an evil sarcastic cherry to the turd sundae of his life.

Crowley gave Dean a once over. "I see there's more of you to love, eh Squirrel," he said. "Been hitting the pie bar have we?"

Dean ignored that remark. He wasn't sure if he should gank Crowley, make a deal with him or both.

"If Squirrel is here, Moose must be nearby," Crowley said, looking around the cul-de-sac. "Where is Winchester Jumbo?"

Dean gave an involuntary glance towards Gayle and Erica's house. Crowley, astute as ever, looked at Dean in shock and said, "Moose? Both of them? And they're not dead yet?"

All Dean could do was nod.

Crowley raised his eyes to the heavens and cried, "This bloody world make no sense!"

Dean couldn't help but agree with him. However, Dean couldn't let Crowley live to rebuild hell. He pulled out his favorite demon ganking knife.

Crowley saw the knife and made a fatal mistake. Instead of immediately teleporting to safety, he paused to make a witty bon mot. Before he could speak, he was slammed into the ground by a familiar looking angel falling at terminal velocity. The angel's sword ran through several of Crowley's vital organs, skewering him like a kabob. A brief light shone out of Crowley's eyes before dimming forever.

Cas stood up, pulled a bottle out of his coat, and said, "Hiya Dean, want a little drinkypoo?" before chugging the bottle's contents and falling down on top of Crowley's corpse.

Before Dean could react, Phil came running out of his house.

"Um," Dean said, desperately trying to think of a cover story that Phil would buy. "Uh, Phil, this isn't what it looks like."

"Really," Phil said. "It looks like an angel of the lord just skewered the King of Hell like a kabob. My Uncle Rufus told me all about Crowley and the angels", Phil said in response to Dean's incredulous stare. "I assume that's Castiel?"

Dean stared at Phil in shock for a moment, and then said, "Rufus Turner? He was you're uncle?"

"Yes, he was. I used to help him out from time to time before I joined the service," Phil said. Phil looked at Crowley's rapidly cooling body. "We need to get him out of here before the others wake up. Here, put him in my pickup truck. I'll dump the body before anyone else wakes up."

Dean chucked Crowley's remains into the truck and covered them with a tarp. Phil got into the truck and drove off towards the desert.

Meanwhile, Cas managed to stagger to his feet. Dean felt a growing sense of irritation. Cas obviously hadn't been killed by Metatron. Why hadn't he answered Dean's prayers? If Cas had shown up sooner, Dean could have found his baby brother before he'd fallen into Erica and Gayle's clutches.

Grabbing the angel by the booze-stained lapels of his trench coat, Dean yelled, "Where the hell have you been for the last two years?"

"I was busy, Dean. We had seven billion souls arriving at once. Do you have any idea how much paperwork that created?" Cas snapped. "I didn't have time to visit you."

"You had plenty of time to tie a load on," Dean said.

"I was under a lot of stress. Alcohol is my way of coping. You know that," Cas said. "You sound just like Aziraphale." Cas saw the half-loaded Impala. "Hey, road trip. Let's go to the wine country." He pulled another bottle out of his coat and collapsed into the back seat.

Sam had heard the commotion and went out to investigate. Cas gave him a drunken salute and continued chugging down tequila.

"Hi Cas," Sam said. Turning to Dean, he said, "What's going on? Where'd Cas come from?" He noticed the supplies in the trunk. "Are you going somewhere, Dean? Is it about the pool situation?"

Dean gave him a brief rundown of the morning's events before telling Sam about his planned road trip. He gave Sam an expectant look. Surely now that Cas had rejoined them, Sam would be eager to resume life on the road.

Sam looked at the Impala, then the mansion, then at the Impala again. His choices were clear; he could either stay in Tucson and make a life for himself with his new friends, or ride around aimlessly with Mr. Pie Filling and an alcoholic angel for the foreseeable future. It was a no-brainer.

"Um Dean," he said rather sheepishly. "I think I'll stick around here for a while."

Dean let forth an anguished cry of, "Duuuuude," his voice full of betrayal.

"Dude," Sam said apologetically.

As if on cue, Gayle and Erica leaned out of their bedroom window and called out to Sam.

Dean looked up at the two women waiting for his baby brother to join them. Staying behind for one hot chick was a betrayal of their brotherhood, but two hot chicks? That was every man's dream. Who was he to stand in the way? It would be a gross violation of the Bro Code. Dean gave Sam his best smirk and said, "Dude".

"Dude," Sam agreed.

Dean got in the driver's seat. "See ya later Sammy. We'll be back in time for Thanksgiving," Dean said, before peeling out of the cul-de-sac in a cloud of dust.


	13. Chapter 13

Epilogue:

Dean's quest for hot chicks hadn't panned out. Sure, he'd met some women, but they were either way too old, way too young, or had already hooked up with another survivor. Dean had pointed them all towards Tucson and continued his search.

Cas had abandoned him in Milwaukee. The angel had taken one look at the derelict breweries and said, "It would be a sin to let all that beer go to waste," then dived into a vat. Dean thought he'd swing by in a month or so to pick Cas up. Hopefully, he could get the beer smell out of the trench coat.

Then there was that busty Asian beauty he'd met in California. Just as he was making headway, the ghost of Kevin Tran had shown up and said something to her in Vietnamese. Dean didn't know exactly what that Kevin had said, but whatever it was, it was enough to make her give him a dirty look, head straight to Tucson and end up married to Phil #2. Cockblocked from beyond the grave! Kevin sure could hold a grudge.

Then there had been the whole 'Supernatural fans' incident. He'd been hopeful when the two survivors were youngish women. It had been a little embarrassing seeing the books and posters on display in their home. However, Dean was willing to overlook it. You'd have thought that those girls would have been happy to meet an actual Winchester, but no. It turned out that they were a pair of Sam girls. To make it worse, they weren't just Sam girls, they were extremely bitter Sam girls.

He'd been cornered in their living room and forced to endure a lengthy lecture from the Sam girls on how he was a "narcissistic jerkwad who didn't deserve to be in the same room with pure, sweet, noble Sam", complete by a page by page breakdown of every alleged sin he'd ever committed. He was only able to end it by telling him that Sam was also alive and living in Tucson. They'd practically trampled him on their way out the door, presumably to join Sam's harem. Was it too much to ask for a Dean girl or three to have survived the apocalypse? Apparently yes.

Dean decided to check out Hibbing, Minnesota for old times' sake. At the very least, he could go to the police rifle range and relieve his feelings by annihilating a few targets. Mindless destruction did always put him in a good mood.

As he neared town, he spotted a Biggerson's. Might as well stop in for some pie, he thought. No point in keeping myself in shape for Cas's sake. He entered the restaurant planning to eat, shoot and leave, but was shocked to see a familiar face at the counter 

"Donna!" he cried.

"Dean! Is it really you?" Donna replied. Her face lit with joy. She ran towards him, threw her arms around him, and began kissing his face.

Now that was more like it, Dean thought, as he returned Donna's affection. I think I'll stick around here for a while.


End file.
